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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26507158">Suddenly I See You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmdonovann/pseuds/cmdonovann'>cmdonovann</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Goddess Tower (Fire Emblem), Goddess Tower scene rewrite, Linhardt is autistic and bad at flirting, M/M, Male My Unit | Byleth, Mentioned Annette Fantine Dominic, Mentioned Dorothea Arnault, Mentioned Hilda Valentine Goneril, Mentioned Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, Mentioned Lysithea von Ordelia, Pining, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), White Heron Cup (Fire Emblem), dancer!linhardt, implied but not exactly specified Blue Lions Route, minor appearances from several other characters, no beta we die like Glenn, some nonsense about how healing magic makes you attuned to the feelings of others</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:34:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,856</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26507158</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmdonovann/pseuds/cmdonovann</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Linhardt is terrible at dealing with his emotions, especially when he's so acutely aware of the emotions of the people around him. Things get infinitely worse when Byleth asks him to participate in the White Heron Cup.</p><p>Title is a lyric from "Venus" by Sleeping At Last.</p><p>Fair warning, this is pre-timeskip Linhardt/Byleth so if you're opposed to that, now is the time to leave. Thanks for understanding!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Linhardt von Hevring/My Unit | Byleth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Suddenly I See You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You want me to do what?!"</p><p>Linhardt stares at his professor, mouth agape.</p><p>"I would like you to represent our house in the White Heron Cup this month," professor Byleth repeats flatly.</p><p>Linhardt feels as though he might fall off the dock and into the fishing pond. He blinks rapidly, shaking his head, trying to regain his composure.</p><p>"Ah, you're joking, aren't you? I can never tell, you so rarely give anything away in your expression," Linhardt chuckles, leaning one hand on the professor's shoulder as he regains his balance.</p><p>"I'm being completely serious," Byleth says, his face unchanged.</p><p>"I— oh." Linhardt nods. "Very well, professor, if you insist."</p><p>"You seem displeased." Byleth crosses his arms.</p><p>"No!" Linhardt shakes his head. "Well, yes. It's true, I dislike putting in any kind of physical effort. And I'm rather surprised you would choose me out of everyone in our class."</p><p>Byleth seems to ponder this for a moment before glancing in the direction of the main hall. "I have some errands to run right now, but I'd be happy to discuss my choice with you over tea later this afternoon, if you're available."</p><p>"Hm," Linhardt says. "Tea would be nice, actually."</p><p>"Noon?"</p><p>"Absolutely."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Linhardt's morning is spent pacing about Garreg Mach in anticipation, mulling over his professor's request. The nervous energy humming in his limbs is a strange sensation, and no amount of fresh air or distraction seems to calm it, nor the cold feeling of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.</p><p>By the time noon rolls around, the cathedral bells chiming their familiar song, Linhardt has all but exhausted himself. He feels dead on his feet as he heads for the professor's quarters, hoping to meet the professor there before he leaves for the garden, where he usually has tea with his students.</p><p>He's just about to knock on the professor's door when it opens and he meets and uncharacteristically surprised Byleth's eyes.</p><p>"Ah, Linhardt," the professor says, the brief window of his expression closing. "I didn't expect you this soon."</p><p>"I'd rather meet you here than around the other students," Linhardt says. "You know, being around other people. It's exhausting," he adds quickly, hoping to clarify his intent.</p><p>"In that case," Byleth steps away and opens the door further, gesturing for Linhardt to come in. He immediately settles at the foot of the professor's bed, not wanting to take up the only chair at his desk. He sinks into the mattress, struggling with the urge to lie down then and there.</p><p>Byleth sets about making a pot of tea, casting a small flame to heat the water. Linhardt watches him; the deliberate and practiced way in which he walks, holds himself, moves his hands. The professor seems to exercise a great deal of control over himself, and Linhardt has often wondered if it's a side effect of his years as a mercenary or something more.</p><p>The rehearsed nature of his professor's movement is not unfamiliar to Linhardt, after all; he recalls being made to practice smiling in a mirror by his father when he was young, or being scolded for walking strangely with all his weight on his toes. Eventually he'd learned to move and emote in the ways expected of him, but he always found it tiring, although it became easier with practice over the years.</p><p>With Byleth, though, Linhardt can't help but wonder what his practiced composure hides. Linhardt's practice with healing magic has, he's noticed, better attuned him to the emotions of those around him, sometimes so strongly that he has to struggle to tune out the chatter.</p><p>And yet, when he looks over at his professor, flame flickering from his hand as he makes their tea, he feels nothing. Or rather, he feels like he's running up against  a wall. Even when he heals him in combat, or leans close to him during classes or training, he feels very little beyond his own tumultuous emotions and racing heart.</p><p>The sound of Byleth pouring water and the smell of the tea beginning to steep pulls Linhardt out of his thoughts; he sits up straighter, realizing he had been leaning to one side as if he might fall asleep in his professor's bed. He blushes at the thought and shakes his head, looking up at Byleth as he hands him a cup of tea.</p><p>"Careful, it's hot," the professor warns him.</p><p>"Thank you," Linhardt says, taking the teacup in both hands and breathing deep. The earthy, herbal scent of his favorite tea washes over him, and some of his anxiety and worries begin to subside.</p><p>"So," Byleth begins, settling down into his desk chair with his own tea, turned toward the bed, "you seemed confused by my decision about the White Heron Cup."</p><p>"Well, yes," Linhardt says, "I would have thought the reason was fairly obvious."</p><p>Byleth shakes his head.</p><p>"There are many other capable students in our house. Why me?"</p><p>The professor is quiet for a moment, taking a cautious sip of his tea. "I spoke to the heads of houses to ask for advice. Claude suggested I choose the most charming student. You were the first to come to mind."</p><p>Linhardt, halfway through a sip of his own tea, inhales sharply and coughs. His face turns bright pink.</p><p>"Are you alright?"</p><p>"Fine!" Linhardt struggles to clear his throat. He takes another careful sip, puzzling over his professor's words.</p><p>"Charming? Me? I can't say I'm not flattered, but I'm afraid you've made the wrong choice."</p><p>Byleth frowns, tapping one finger against the handle of his teacup. He seems to be thinking.</p><p>"I don't mean to question your authority, professor. If you want me to compete, I won't argue." Linhardt sighs, looking down into his teacup. He settles his hands into his lap, his arms suddenly heavy as lead. "But if you want to practice with me, I'd prefer to do so another day. I'm quite tired after all this."</p><p>"Hm," Byleth says, still thinking. He takes another sip of tea. "Practice with you?"</p><p>Linhardt looks up at him, raises an eyebrow.</p><p>"Yes, but— professor, don't tell me you don't know how to dance."</p><p>Byleth shrugs, his expression grim.</p><p>"It didn't really come up often in my previous profession."</p><p>Linhardt groans, putting his face in his hand. "We'll definitely have to save the practice for another day, professor. After all this, I am in dire need of a nap." He stands, intent on returning to his own quarters to rest, but the sudden movement combined with the fact that in his worrying he neglected to eat breakfast or lunch that morning makes his head spin. Before he can catch himself his teacup is on the floor in several pieces, his hands in the hot liquid as he collapses.</p><p>"Linhardt!" The professor's voice sounds far away; Linhardt only barely feels his hands helping him up, but his face grows hot nonetheless.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Linhardt manages. "I'm alright. I may have forgotten to eat today."</p><p>Byleth helps him back onto the bed, hurrying to clean up the tea and broken porcelain. Linhardt watches him for a moment, still dazed, before his eyes slide closed. His head feels heavy, and the clinking sound of the broken teacup being swept up is almost musical to his tired ears.</p><p>"We'll have to make sure you don't forget on the day of the Cup, then, hm?"</p><p>Linhardt laughs, despite himself, and sinks slowly sideways into the professor's bed.</p><p>"I'll do my best, professor."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>After Linhardt finds his way back to his own room, too tired to be embarrassed, he sleeps. He barely leaves his room on Sunday, though he hears a knock at the door mid-morning. He does not answer it, but he opens the door later to find that someone has left a basket of food from the dining hall waiting outside his room. It's cold already, and there is no note, but he feels a blush creep into his face as he takes it and returns to his room, certain that it must be the professor's doing.</p><p>Indeed, it seems that his professor frets over him more than usual in his classes throughout the week. Linhardt can feel the professor's eyes on him during lectures, though he does his best not to meet them. The attention makes him feel some kind of way, though he struggles to identify the feeling exactly. It's not necessarily a bad feeling; it keeps him from dozing off in class, yes, but it also keeps him awake longer than he'd like at night, the odd warmth in his stomach when he thinks about his professor.</p><p>On Thursday, the professor pulls him aside after class. He waits for the rest of the students to file out of the classroom, closing the door quietly behind Anette as she scurries out after bombarding him with several questions about dark magic.</p><p>"Linhardt," Byleth says, pacing over to his desk and resting a hand on his shoulder. "How are you feeling?"</p><p>Linhardt shrugs, surprised by how warm the professor's hands always seem to be. It must be nice, he thinks, not being the sort of person who has to bring a blanket to classes in the winter. Linhardt always struggles to keep his hands warm enough to write in the drafty classrooms.</p><p>"I'm fine." Linhardt pauses, wondering if he should thank the professor for the basket left at his door on Sunday. He thinks better of it, knowing he'll look foolish if professor Byleth was not, in fact, the one who left it. "Did you want to talk about the competition?"</p><p>"I did," Byleth nods. "I spoke to a handful of other students in our house, and none of them want to compete in your place. It sounds like Dorothea has been considering entering, so I'm guessing no one wants to lose to her."</p><p>Linhardt groans. "I'm doomed, then. There is no way I'm a better dancer than her."</p><p>Byleth frowns slightly. "Isn't that what practice is for?"</p><p>"Practice can only do so much," Linhardt says with a shake of his head. "But still, if I'm going to compete, I may as well compete properly. When would you like me to meet you for practice?"</p><p>The professor crosses his arms, tapping one finger on his forearm. "Saturday morning?"</p><p>"Very well," Linhardt nods solemnly, wondering what his professor is thinking. Though his face shows nothing— Linhardt sometimes wonders if he has any emotions at all— his eyes rest on the professor's face for a moment, noting the little line in his forehead where his brows are drawn together ever so slightly. Is he worried?</p><p>"Saturday at nine o'clock, then." The professor looks up at him. The little wrinkle in his brow is smoothed out, and he is unreadable once more.</p><p>Linhardt yawns, stretches, and stands. "Ten?"</p><p>"Nine thirty," the professor offers, raising an eyebrow, and Linhardt can't help but smile.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Linhardt gives the yard outside the classrooms a quick glance over; several students are out practicing their dancing, preparing for the ball. The weather is surprisingly nice for this late in the year; there's a chill in the air, but the sky is clear and the sun is shining, warming the air enough that a coat isn't even really necessary.</p><p>Walking along the edge of the yard Linhardt catches sight of Lorenz and Hilda together; Hilda is leading, but can't seem to stop stepping on Lorenz's toes. She scolds Lorenz for it, and the look on his face as he apologizes makes Linhardt chuckle to himself; he can feel Lorenz bristling like a frightened cat from fifteen yards away.</p><p>It occurs to Linhardt suddenly that perhaps the reason so many students are out practicing is that the other two houses have not officially chosen their representative for the cup yet. Linhardt frowns. The idea of not knowing for sure who he will be competing with is offputting— though he's still hoping that Dorothea decides not to compete— but he pushes the feeling down when he finally spots the professor, hurrying across the lawn toward him.</p><p>"Linhardt," the professor greets him, his tone warmer that usual despite his stony expression.</p><p>"Professor," Linhardt replies, giving him a nod so deep it veers into the territory of a bow. He feels silly and overly formal, but he figures acting the part of a fancy noble might make him more confident about all this. <em>Fake it until you make it</em>, Dorothea had told him once, and he intends to use that advice against her.</p><p>"It's busier than I thought it would be," Byleth remarks, glancing around the yard. "I guess everyone's excited."</p><p>"Mmhmm," Linhardt hums, fidgeting absentmindedly with the seam of one sleeve. "Oh, professor. I completely forgot. You said you don't know how to dance."</p><p>"Well," the professor glances sideways at Linhardt, and he swears the look in his eyes is almost mischievous. "I did ask Dimitri for some, uh, guidance on that topic yesterday."</p><p>"Dimitri? Impressive. I'm surprised all of your bones are intact," Linhardt jokes, though his tone must not express his humorous intent adequately, because the professor quirks one eyebrow upward. "I've seen him accidentally snap lances in half while sparring with Petra. I would hate to see what he could do to your hands."</p><p>"It went well enough," the professor says with a shrug, though he glances down at his hands. "He showed me how to waltz. But I'm not sure that's the right kind of dance for this competition."</p><p>"It'll do," Linhardt says. "It's certainly one of the easiest dances." Linhardt holds out a hand to his professor, trying to act bolder than he feels, his heart fluttering rapidly in his chest. "Shall we?"</p><p>The professor takes his hand, following Linhardt to join the other students practicing in the courtyard.</p><p>"Here." Linhardt guides his professor's hand to his shoulder. "I can lead, since you're new to this." He places his hand gently on Byleth's side, sliding beneath the edge of his coat.</p><p>Byleth looks evenly at him, and Linhardt wonders how he manages to keep his composure so well when Linhardt feels like he's about to combust.</p><p>"So, it's a six-step dance. I step forward with this foot while you step back with the opposite." Linhardt instructs, remembering the way he was taught to dance years ago. The professor nods, glancing down at his own feet quickly before looking back up.</p><p>"Right."</p><p>"Then out, like this," Linhardt takes the next step, and this time Byleth follows immediately, keeping his head up, eyes locked on his partner.</p><p>"Then bring the first foot back in, like this." The step brings their chests closer together, and Linhardt feels a blush creeping up his cheeks that he tries to ignore.</p><p>"Thats's pretty much it. Just repeat that in both directions. I admit I'm not the best at any of the spins or turns, but that's what practice is for, I suppose." Linhardt finds himself talking much faster than he intends. The professor seems unfazed, but his eyes never quite seem to meet Linhardt's, focused instead on his lips as he speaks.</p><p>"Would you like me to count?" the professor asks, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on Linhardt's collarbone. Linhardt nods.</p><p>"That might help, yes. Thank you."</p><p>The professor begins counting the rhythm aloud, following Linhardt's steps closely in the <em>one-two-three</em> beat until they become accustomed to the movement together. After a few minutes of stepping around in the basic box shape, Linhardt guides the professor into a turn, spinning him around without breaking the rhythm.</p><p>"This isn't so bad," Linhardt remarks. "I find it rather difficult to believe that you had never danced before coming to the monastery."</p><p>Byleth shrugs slightly, continuing to count out the rhythm just quietly enough for the two of them. Linhardt's hand presses into his side, guiding him into another turn, then a dip. Their faces are shockingly close, close enough that Linhardt can see the nearly imperceptible change in his professor's eyes as his pupils dilate.</p><p>Byleth freezes, looking up at Linhardt, their rhythm forgotten. Linhardt is acutely aware of the other students nearby, feels their eyes on him and his professor with their faces inches apart.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Linhardt says, pulling the professor up and breaking away. "You probably were not expecting that."</p><p>"I wasn't," Byleth confirms, "but there's no need to apologize. You're much better at this than you led me to believe, Linhardt."</p><p>Linhardt laughs self consciously, looking at the ground, the walls, the benches nearby, anywhere but his professor. "Am I? I suppose you think I don't need any more practice, then."</p><p>"If you want to be done for now, that's fine."</p><p>Byleth's face is cool and calm; his tone gives no hidden meaning or implication to his words. Linhardt feels a violent, nameless emotion bubble up in his chest and his face burns, his fingertips itching to reach out and pull his professor close again.</p><p>Instead he just nods and practically runs back to his room, locking the door behind him and burying his face in his pillow until the feeling subsides.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The day of the White Heron Cup rolls around faster than Linhardt would like it to, and he's all nerves and shaky hands getting dressed in the morning until he opens his door to find another basket of food from the dining hall waiting outside for him.</p><p>This time there is a note. It reads, "Don't forget to eat today. Good luck," in messy, looping handwriting that Linhardt recognizes all too easily from the notes left in red ink in the margins of his essays.</p><p>Of course.</p><p>Linhardt arrives to the main hall early, planting himself at one of the tables near the edge of the hall to watch as spectators, judges, and the other two contestants arrive and mingle. He spots Dorothea not long after sitting down; her makeup is flawless, more dramatic than usual, and her hair is tied up in braids with a few loose strands framing her face. She must be competing then, Linhardt assumes, and judging by the way Petra is clinging to her arm, she must have had a lot of help preparing.</p><p>Lorenz seems to be the last of the three contestants, Linhardt notes as he arrives arm-in-arm with Hilda. She keeps fussing over the collar of his shirt and the flowers pinned to his lapel; they're pink this time, instead of his usual red, almost the same shade as Hilda's hair. Linhardt smirks at her across the hall, and she rolls her eyes and makes a face back at him. Lorenz ignores him entirely, clearly too nervous to focus on anything.</p><p>Byleth arrives only a few minutes before the competition is scheduled to start. Linhardt watches him scanning the now crowded hall and considers going over to talk to him, but Dorothea gets to him first, putting one arm around his shoulders as she talks animatedly. He stiffens, clearly uncomfortable, but makes no move to extract himself from her embrace. Linhardt frowns, unable to hear what either of them are saying, though Dorothea's mischievousness is evident even without Linhardt's familiarity advantage. The professor keeps looking around the hall as if searching for something, and Linhardt ducks his head down behind a group of students when the professor glances his direction, not wanting to draw Dorothea's attention as well.</p><p>Suddenly Alois calls out for everyone to quiet down, gathering the judges and contestants toward the center of the hall. Linhardt hurries through the group of spectators gathered around the edges of the room, standing between Dorothea and Lorenz, neither of whom look nearly as anxious as he feels.</p><p>Alois goes over the rules of the competition and judging, but Linhardt hears very little of it. He catches sight of Byleth near the back of the crowd of spectators. His professor gives him the smallest of nods, and Linhardt nods back, feeling that same hum in his fingertips he's been feeling for a week.</p><p>He pushes the feeling away, looking at his two competitors out of the corner of his eye; Lorenz ignores him, focusing entirely on Hilda, who keeps waving and giving him thumbs-ups from across the room, and Dorothea gives Linhardt a wink before turning her attention back to Alois just as he gives them the go-ahead.</p><p>The actual dancing part of the competition is a blur to Linhardt. He's only sort of aware that he's dancing at all; his brain just keeps replaying his practice with Byleth over and over in his head, thinking about his professor's hand on his shoulder, fingers tapping out a waltz rhythm on his collarbone. He doesn't start hearing the world around him again until Alois announces him the winner.</p><p>"I— what?" Linhardt finds himself blinking as if he's just seen sunlight for the first time.</p><p>"Well done, Linhardt, that was most impressive," Lorenz offers him a hand, which he reaches out dazedly to shake.</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>The spectators have all returned to chatting amongst themselves, some already beginning to file out of the hall, and Linhardt struggles to regain his focus through the low bubble of background chatter.</p><p>"Congrats, Lin." Dorothea puts a hand on his arm and smiles, pulling him away from the center of the hall and into the crowd. "Seems like you beat me at my own game."</p><p>"I'll be the first to admit that I have no idea how," Linhardt says, leaning his hip against one of the tables. He scrutinizes Dorothea's face, trying to figure out if she means something more than what she's saying. She just raises an eyebrow and nods in the direction of professor Byleth, smirking.</p><p>"Oh," Linhardt chuckles. "You're implying I won the competition to impress the professor."</p><p>"I wouldn't say it like <em>that</em>," Dorothea says with mock surprise in her voice, putting on an offended act. "But basically, yes. He seems... interested in you."</p><p>Linhardt's stomach feels like it's fallen off a bridge. "Really," is all he manages, not even making it sound like a question. His vision unfocuses, staring across the room at one of the candle sconces. Dorothea laughs and puts a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>"Oh, Lin, you're really in deep, aren't you?"</p><p>He shrugs. "How deep does it go, I wonder?"</p><p>"You're an odd one, Lin," Dorothea says, her voice bright. "You should go talk to him, I'm sure he'll be happy that you won."</p><p>"I think I'd rather go lie down," Linhardt says quietly.</p><p>"What? After winning something like this? You should be celebrating! I'll never understand you." Dorothea shakes her head. "At least say hello to him on your way out. I know I got in his way when he was looking for you before the competition."</p><p>"He was looking for me?"</p><p>"Of course he was looking for you, silly. He probably wanted to give you a good luck kiss," Dorothea teases him, nudging him with her elbow.</p><p>Linhardt can feel the blood rushing to his face, and he tries ineffectually to hide behind one of his hands, feigning a yawn.</p><p>"Don't be ridiculous. I'm leaving now."</p><p>Linhardt pulls himself free of the arm Dorothea had looped through his and heads for the nearest door.</p><p>"Lin, wait, I was only joking—"</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>For the first time since joining professor Byleth's house, Linhardt skips class.</p><p>It's not so much that he doesn't want to go to class. They'd been planning on discussing some new magic concepts, and he'd been rather looking forward to practicing with Lysithea and Annette.</p><p>No, Linhardt skips class because he wants to see the professor so badly that it frightens him. He can feel it like a fist wrapped around his heart, holding the power to stop its beating at any moment.</p><p>He tells himself that he shouldn't be surprised, that he should have expected this; it's certainly not the first time he's developed a crush on someone he'd previously been interested in in a purely academic sense. Earlier in the year he'd spent almost a week pretending to be too sick to leave his room after he'd been on stable duty with Marianne and accidentally brushed her hand while reaching for a bucket of water. She had been horrified and apologized profusely when Linhardt jumped at the touch, though in truth he had not been hurt or even alarmed, just taken off guard by how pleasant a simple touch could be.</p><p>He'd told himself his feelings for Marianne were purely scientific curiosity, baffled by her insistence that her crest would cause him bad luck despite a complete lack of evidence. But in the end a mere brush of hands was enough to reduce him to a lovesick mess, hiding away in his room reading to avoid his feelings until they went away.</p><p>He had been doing a fairly decent job of avoiding his feelings for the professor, all things considered, until he danced with him. And now here he is in his room again, watching the clock tick away the hours he should be in class, thinking about his hand on Byleth's waist, their faces inches apart.</p><p>Linhardt groans and rolls over in his bed, pressing his face into the pillow until he can barely breathe. He can feel his cheeks and ears burning with embarrassment and frustration.</p><p>Lifting his face from his pillow, Linhardt glances around the room, looking for something to distract him. There's a pile of books next to his bed that he's been meaning to return to the library for weeks now, but they've been there so long and the stack has grown so tall that it's essentially become a little table. On top of the pile sits an empty teacup, a quill, and a tarnished pocketwatch that Linhardt is pretty sure belongs to Sylvain, but hasn't had the energy to ask.</p><p>Linhardt pushes the clutter aside to read the title of the book on top of the pile. <em>Genealogy and the Inheritance of Crests</em>, the cover says in faded gold lettering embossed into its greenish-blue leather. He'd borrowed it from professor Hanneman back before he switched classes; he wonders if Hanneman has yet noticed its absence. Linhardt slides it carefully from beneath the messy pile and settles back against his pillow, propping the book up against the frame of his bed and tucking his hands under his chin to try to read.</p><p>Despite his best efforts, Linhardt only gets through a few paragraphs before the same scene begins playing over and over in his head once more. Byleth, hand on his shoulder, keeping time as Linhardt sweeps him around the courtyard in a waltz. Their faces nearly touching as Linhardt dips him low, his hand firm against the small of his professor's back.</p><p>The scene morphs from a memory to a fantasy as Linhardt's imagination gets the better of him. He considers what would have happened had he closed the distance between himself and his professor there in the courtyard, if he had kissed him then and there, in front of his classmates. His stomach turns, fear and delight mixing in his gut at the thought, at the absurdity of the idea, the absurdity of how terribly he wants it. He wonders if the professor's lips are as warm as his hands, wonders whether the fire that seems to burn inside him is a side effect of his crest or merely a side effect of Linhardt's fascination with him; he thinks it must be a kind of magic that makes any touch from the professor feel like flames on his skin, makes him feel like he's burning up inside when he thinks about him.</p><p>He wonders how the professor's hands would feel without the gloves he always wears. He wonders if they would burn against his chest, his neck, the soft inside of his thighs, his—</p><p>Linhardt groans again, noticing how uncomfortable he is now, with his stomach and hips against his bed. He rolls back over to stare up at the ceiling, some of the pressure relieved, but not enough. He reaches down, fumbling with the buttons of his pants, realizing suddenly that his heart is racing. His pulse is rapid enough to feel it behind his eyes when he closes them and touches himself, his professor's name on his lips when he comes.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Linhardt tries his best to avoid his professor's gaze in class the next day. He scrambles to pack up his books and leave as soon at the lecture is over, but Byleth heads directly for his desk before the rest of the students have even left the classroom.</p><p>"You weren't in class yesterday," he comments dryly. His tone isn't accusatory, Linhardt notes; in fact, he sounds almost... concerned? Linhardt leans over his books so his hair falls in his face.</p><p>"I was feeling... unwell. I apologize." Linhardt finishes shoving his notes and books into his bag and slings it over his shoulder, standing up a little straighter. He can feel the professor's eyes on him, questioning, but he doesn't meet them.</p><p>"You didn't forget to eat again, did you?" He sounds genuinely worried now, and a pang of guilt lances Linhardt through the chest.</p><p>"No, no, I'm fine. Just tired."</p><p>Byleth continues to scrutinize him, leaning closer across the desk. The other students have all left now, though the door is still open. Nevertheless, a thought seizes Linhardt like a hand around his neck, and for a split second he wonders if he should kiss Byleth, here and now, before he loses his nerve.</p><p>He does not kiss his professor. He is stopped, rather surprisingly, by the professor gently brushing his hair away from his face and looking at him closely, as if studying his face.</p><p>"Have you been to see Manuela? You don't look too pale." The professor presses his palm to Linhardt's cheek. Linhardt feels as though his heart may stop, or implode, or perhaps both at once. "I don't think you're feverish, either, but I'm not an expert. Are you sure you're okay?"</p><p>Linhardt opens his mouth to speak, but his throat is too dry and the words won't come out. Instead he just nods.</p><p>"Alright," Byleth says, seeming satisfied. He pulls his hand away from Linhardt's cheek, and Linhardt has to force himself to keep his face neutral. He clears his throat.</p><p>"See you tomorrow, professor."</p><p>"Take care, Linhardt."</p><p>Linhardt hurries out of the classroom, grateful for the chilly air and light snowfall outside. It cools the fire on his skin, burning where the professor's hand touched his cheek.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>There's a noticeable buzz in the air throughout the monastery all week, students casting knowing glances to each other and hiding whispers behind hands and books in class and in the library. Linhardt wouldn't mind the excitement so much if he wasn't dreading the topic of everyone's chatter: the upcoming ball.</p><p>Linhardt has never been, if he were to put it bluntly, good at socializing. Small talk is a particular struggle for him; it's a skill he'd tried to hone when he was younger and cared more about his parents' opinion of him, and a skill he'd promptly forgotten as soon as he found a topic that genuinely interested him. But finding peers willing to discuss his interests with him is rare, and so his conversational skills have lapsed almost entirely; people frequently find the way he talks to be odd, he's noticed, and he's not certain they're wrong about that.</p><p>So the idea of standing around at the ball waiting for someone to talk to him or ask him to dance is almost unbearable, and Linhardt has half a mind to simply skip the event and spend the night undisturbed in the library instead.</p><p>But then, of course, there's the possibility that professor Byleth will be there. And why wouldn't he be? The rest of the students clearly love him; Linhardt knows for a fact he isn't the only one with a bit of a crush, but the idea of asking the professor to dance when so many others are vying for his attention makes Linhardt want to sleep for a week.</p><p>Linhardt sighs and rests his chin in his hands, staring blankly down at the book he had been trying to read before getting distracted. The library lights are low and warm, and Linhardt wonders if it's getting dark outside yet.</p><p>Another whisper from behind him catches his attention, and he turns as surreptitiously as possible to determine its source.</p><p>Annette and Lysithea are seated a few tables away from him, a pile of books between them. Annette has one hand cupped to keep her whisper from reaching the ears of passerby, and Lysithea's eyes are lit up with mischief at whatever secret she is sharing. Her emotion practically rolls off her in waves; Linhardt would feel it from a mile away, the way her delight at whatever gossip Annette is providing bubbles and sparks like fireworks in the air around her.</p><p>Annette looks over at Linhardt suddenly and her eyes widen, realizing he's watching her. Her face turns bright red and she gathers her books quickly, smoothing over the front of her wrinkled uniform and leaning to whisper one last thing to Lysithea before hurrying out of the library. Lysithea laughs.</p><p>"It's not nice to stare, you know," Lysithea chides him from across the room.</p><p>"I could say the same to you," Linhardt replies, closing his book and standing to join Lysithea at her table, depositing himself in the seat Annette abandoned. "Did Annette have anything interesting to say about me?"</p><p>"How do you know we were talking about you?" Lysithea's tone is teasing, and Linhardt can't help but smile.</p><p>"Oh, believe me, I know when people are talking about me. I just usually choose to ignore it."</p><p>Lysithea rolls her eyes and lowers her voice. "Well, if you must know, Annette thinks the professor likes you."</p><p>Linhardt clears his throat. "I'm sure he likes all of his students. He does have to lead us in battle, after all. He must care about all of us."</p><p>"That's not what I meant and you know it," Lysithea elbows him. "Come on, Linhardt, I'm not stupid! I've noticed how distracted you get during practice when the professor is around."</p><p>"You've scolded me for it, yes," Linhardt says fondly, "and you're right, I am easily distracted by things I find interesting."</p><p>"I knew it!" Lysithea's voice is soft, but triumphant. "You do like the professor!"</p><p>"I find him interesting," Linhardt corrects, though he can't help the blush he feels creeping across his cheeks. "I find lots of people with unusual crests interesting. The professor, Marianne, you—"</p><p>"You don't get distracted and miss targets and set the training dummies on fire when you see me swing a sword, though, do you?"</p><p>Linhardt frowns. "That only happened once. And you never know, I might set something on fire if I saw you cut a dummy in half."</p><p>Lysithea laughs. "I guess I'll have to get some practice in, then, so you can find out."</p><p>Linhardt smiles softly at Lysithea, leaning his shoulder against hers. They've spent a lot of time together since joining the same class, studying and practicing magic and occasionally stealing sweets from the kitchen together on those odd nights when Linhardt is too wrapped up in his thoughts to sleep. It's beginning to seem like tonight may be one of those nights.</p><p>"Lysithea," Linhardt begins, his shoulder still pressed against hers, "have you ever noticed that the professor always seems strangely warm?"</p><p>"That's a little weird, Linhardt," Lysithea says, "but now that you mention it, yes. He had me practicing healing magic on him a few weeks ago by giving himself a bunch of papercuts. His hands are way warmer than a normal person."</p><p>"At least I'm not the only one to notice," Linhardt sighs as he flips his book back open. "I thought it might have something to do with his crest. But the only other person in history to have that crest... ah, there aren't a lot of personal accounts of what he was like. Definitely no accounts of him being, well, hot."</p><p>Lysithea stifles a laugh, snorting into her sleeve. "That is the least delicate way you could possibly phrase that." Linhardt elbows her. "But seriously, is that the only reason you're interested in the professor? His crest?"</p><p>Linhardt shrugs. "I don't know. No," he admits with a sigh, looking back down at his book.</p><p>For a moment they're both quiet, Linhardt flipping idly through the pages of his book without really reading them, Lysithea staring off into the distance, thinking.</p><p>"I might know something you can do about that," Lysithea says after a while, her voice lowered to a hush.</p><p>"Hm?" Linhardt doesn't move his head from the place where it's resting in his hand, but looks at Lysithea out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>"I... may have heard some other things from Annette. About the professor." Lysithea pauses, tapping her finger on the table. "Apparently he's been asking around about the Goddess Tower."</p><p>Linhardt raises an eyebrow. "What about it?"</p><p>"You know," Lysithea's voice is insistent, "the story about how if you meet someone there the night of the ball, your fates are entwined forever, or something silly like that. I think you have to make a vow."</p><p>"Mm. Sounds like a fairytale," Linhardt says with a yawn.</p><p>"I guess so."</p><p>"So you're thinking that if he goes there, he's hoping to meet someone in particular?"</p><p>"Exactly!" Lysithea sounds excited, her voice briefly too loud for the quiet of the library. She returns to her whisper again before finishing. "Maybe he's hoping to meet you there. You know. Since he seems to like you so much."</p><p>Linhardt yawns again and leans his head on Lysithea's shoulder, closing his eyes.</p><p>"Lysithea, you're a genius," he says, only a little bit sarcastic, and Lysithea snorts.</p><p>"I know. Now get off me and go to bed, Linhardt. I still have to study."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The night of the ball comes faster than Linhardt expects, the days seeming shorter and shorter the closer it gets. He tries to focus on class, studying, and the pile of history books he borrowed from the library in an attempt to find anything useful about the professor's crest; instead he finds himself zoning out and drifting off far more frequently than usual, struggling to keep his focus on anything beyond his routine of going to class, then the library, then back to his room. He does, at least, remember to eat something most days, and when he doesn't, steals snacks from Lysithea or Lorenz during magic practice, since they both seem to have an endless supply.</p><p>He's rather grateful when he wakes up the morning of the 25th and sees the ball scribbled in red ink on his calendar; once it's over and done with, he hopes, things might go back to normal and he'll stop feeling like he's being sucked into a whirlpool of emotion every time he sees his professor.</p><p>Or perhaps he won't. Perhaps he'll go on daydreaming about kissing Byleth, or lying with him beneath the stars, or sitting at the edge of the fishing pond with their feet in the water and the professor's shoulder against his own. Perhaps one day he'll pluck up the courage and the energy to talk to Byleth about his feelings, to find out if they're reciprocated.</p><p>Perhaps that's why Lysithea told him that story about the Goddess Tower.</p><p>Linhardt sighs. Of course he isn't actually going to meet his professor there tonight. Why would Byleth go there in the first place? What an absurd idea. But now the idea is in his head, and he knows he won't be able to rid himself of it until his curiosity is satisfied.</p><p>Cursing Lysithea under his breath, he drags himself out of bed and fixes his hair, looking through his wardrobe for the least wrinkled shirt he can find. If he's going to confess his feelings like a fool, he thinks, he may as well look presentable doing it.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Linhardt tries his best to arrive to the ball on time, but instead he spends twenty minutes lying in bed, fully clothed, worrying whether he's overthinking or underthinking this whole Goddess Tower idea. In the end he only gets up because he's hungry, and he's sure there will be snacks and drinks and wants to get to the good sweets before Lysithea has a chance to eat all of them.</p><p>As soon as he enters the hall he spots her, dressed in something lacy and purple that Hilda probably helped her pick out. He scans the hall for the professor and, after a cursory glance does not locate him, hurries through the crowd of students toward his friend.</p><p>"Linhardt!" she says as soon as she sees him. "I didn't know if you were actually coming."</p><p>"Well, I figured there would be desserts."</p><p>"Are there ever! Here, you have to try these." She pushes a little plate toward him, piled high with tiny chocolate cakes no bigger around than a glass.</p><p>"Oh, Lysithea. What would I do without you." Linhardt takes one and eats it in a single bite.</p><p>"Die, probably."</p><p>"Oh, please," Linhardt mumbles around a mouthful of cake, "you'd die at least once a week without me and you know it."</p><p>Lysithea giggles at him, rolling her eyes. "So? Are you gonna do it?"</p><p>Linhardt swallows and clears his throat. "Do what?"</p><p>"Go to the Goddess Tower tonight."</p><p>"Oh, I suppose I must, or I'll die of curiousity," he says dramatically. "Why on earth did you tell me about this, anyway? I'd have been happier not knowing. I could have spent the night in the library, undisturbed, for the first time in weeks."</p><p>"Ah, but then you wouldn't be able to have these," Lysithea offers him another plate of sweets, which he takes and nibbles at, thinking.</p><p>"Mm. Maybe I'll have something to drink. That might help."</p><p>"Maybe," Lysithea says with a shrug, taking a bite of her pastry.</p><p>"By the way, have you seen the professor yet?" Linhardt leans closer to Lysithea as he asks, lowering his voice.</p><p>"Mm, now that you mention it, no." She smirks at him. "Maybe he's already waiting for you."</p><p>"I certainly hope not," Linhardt says, feeling the color drain from his face. "I think I am going to have a drink, after all."</p><p>With that, he abandons Lysithea with her plate of sweets and wanders the edge of the hall, looking for somewhere he can get a glass of wine or champagne. He's never been a fan of either, but he can't help thinking he would feel less awkward in this environment if he had something in his hands to pay attention to rather than scanning the crowd of students every few seconds for any sign of Byleth.</p><p>By the time he locates some champagne, the atmosphere in the room has shifted drastically, the music slowing and the lights dimming. Out of the corner of his eye Linhardt sees Petra and Dorothea dancing together— or rather, Dorothea trying to teach Petra a slow dance. Linhardt ducks behind a group of younger students, hoping Dorothea didn't see him, not feeling very keen on her teasing right now, however affectionate it may be. He takes a drink.</p><p>Linhardt catches sight of Lorenz chatting with Lysithea near the dessert table he left earlier, Hilda twirling up to them to show off her dress. Lysithea's eyes grow wide at the sight, and Hilda giggles, pulling Lysithea into a little waltz and a dip as Lorenz applauds them, an adoring smile on his face. Linhardt can't help but chuckle to himself, wondering how long it'll be before Lorenz and Hilda switch houses too so they can join Lysithea.</p><p>Lysithea does, Linhardt notes, have a sort of inescapable charm to her, despite her harsh words and sharp edges. He's seen it in the way Annette hovers around her to observe during combat magic training, in the way Lorenz and Hilda and her other friends from the Golden Deer house fawn over her like a little sister. Even Felix has taken a liking to her, setting aside time to help her with her swordsmanship in exchange for explaining dark magic theory to him once a week. Linhardt has found himself drawn to her as well, like she's magnetic, though he's unlikely to admit that to her anytime soon. She's not incapable of defending herself— far from it, in fact— but Linhardt can't help but feel that everyone wants to protect her.</p><p>It's a feeling he's all too familiar with these days, and one he wishes wasn't so necessary. All the worrying he does over his classmates and friends and his professor tires him out, but he has to admit, he's never felt as close to anyone as when he's healing them in the heat of battle. It's an odd side effect of his study of healing magic, his increased awareness of the feelings of those around him. He'd always had what his father condescendingly referred to as "overactive empathy," but thus far the only downside Linhardt has found to the skill is that healing others means synchronizing himself with them, experiencing an echo of their pain.</p><p>The positives far outweigh the negatives though, Linhardt notes, as his mind returns from its drifting when he notices Dorothea nearby. She's headed his way, and though he hasn't picked her out of the crowd yet, Linhardt can feel the mischievous buzz she always seems to radiate when she's about to tease him. He groans; he clearly failed at his stealth attempt.</p><p>"Lin!" Dorothea's voice rings out from behind him, and he turns to see her, face flushed from dancing, dressed all in red and silver, her braided and curled hair falling around her face in a kind of elegant controlled chaos. "I'm glad you decided to come! Have you danced with anyone yet?"</p><p>"Ah, no. I'm just observing for the time being." He clears his throat. "You seem to be enjoying yourself. Where's Petra?"</p><p>Dorothea laughs brightly. "Ignatz borrowed her for a dance. And what about you? Where's your professor?"</p><p>Linhardt feels his face getting red and he crosses his arms defensively. "I haven't seen him, actually. I'm not certain he's here."</p><p>"Oh, he's here all right," Dorothea says, catching sight of something behind Linhardt's shoulder that distracts her. He turns to follow her gaze to the center of the hall, where Claude has pulled someone into a spin, the crowd of students parting to watch in surprise.</p><p>It's the professor.</p><p>Linhardt has to stop himself from dropping the glass he forgot was in his hand.</p><p>"Ah."</p><p>"Are you alright? Don't be too jealous, Lin, I think Claude is trying to dance with everyone just to prove he can."</p><p>Linhardt shakes his head to try to clear his thoughts, but he can't tear his eyes away from Claude and the professor. Claude's hand is on his waist, and though he doesn't look uncomfortable, the professor's movements are just slightly off-tempo from Claude's, his face confused and flustered.</p><p>"I'm alright," Linhardt says, finally looking back at Dorothea. "There's something I have to do."</p><p>"I see," she says, winking at him. "Good luck!"</p><p>"Thank you. I'll need it." Linhardt downs the rest of his champagne in one gulp, sets the glass down on the nearest table, and heads for the door.</p><p>Linhardt pushes his way through the throng of students and makes his way out into the courtyard, the icy night air hitting him like a wave, washing him out to sea. With the noise of the hall fading away behind him, Linhardt feels suddenly wide awake.</p><p>He sets off for the Goddess Tower, arms wrapped around himself to ward off the chill.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The winding staircase up the Goddess Tower is quiet and dark, and Linhardt can hear his own breath echo along the stone, louder as he nears the top.</p><p>The room at its apex is hardly a room at all, with arches on all four sides open to the sky outside, and an opening in the center of the floor where a bell once hung. Linhardt paces carefully around the edge of the room to look out one of the arches, leaning a hand against the smooth, cold stone to steady himself as he looks out at the monastery from above.</p><p>There's a sound behind him at the stairway, and without thinking, Linhardt knows it must be Byleth.</p><p>"Ah, professor!"</p><p>Linhardt turns at the sound of his footsteps, nearly silent in the cold night air behind him. His heart is thumping in his chest like it's trying to break itself out of his ribcage, and if not for the chill he would have broken out into a nervous sweat the second he heard the professor's approach; he didn't plan what to say. He didn't think he would get this far.</p><p>"You're late," is all he manages, mentally chastising himself when it comes out sounding much less like a joke than he intended.</p><p>"We didn't have plans to meet," Byleth replies, shifting his weight to one hip and crossing his arms, looking Linhardt over as if analyzing him.</p><p>"Oh, well," Linhardt hopes he doesn't sound as nervous as he feels. "One can hope to run into someone though, especially on a night like this."</p><p>"Mm," the professor nods, looking out the tower window at the monastery below. The lights from the ball are visible even from above, and every now and then the echo of voices and laughter reaches the tower from students leaving or arriving to the party. "It is a nice night."</p><p>"Yes," Linhardt agrees, turning back toward the arch and stepping a bit to the side to allow his professor to join him. He does so, gazing out at the stars, saying nothing.</p><p>The night sky is dark and cold, the stars sharp little pin-pricks of brightness, places where the light shines through. It should be freezing up here in the tower, but all Linhardt can feel is the warmth radiating from Byleth.</p><p>"Do you know the story about this place, professor?" Linhardt asks suddenly, the silence too heavy on his shoulders. He's certain the professor knows; according to Lysithea, he had been asking about the Goddess Tower earlier in the month. But Byleth just shrugs, a small movement, and looks over at him expectantly.</p><p>"About the Goddess Tower?"</p><p>"Ah, yes. It's rather sentimental. Supposedly if two people meet here and make a vow together, their fates will be intertwined forever," Linhardt says, feeling his face grow hot. He looks away at his own hand holding him steady against the stone and clears his throat. "Or maybe it's a curse. I don't remember the story, exactly," he lies. "But either way, it's a lovely legend."</p><p>Byleth hums in acknowledgement. "The curse probably isn't so lovely, though."</p><p>"No, I suppose not," Linhardt says. "But then, love can feel like a curse sometimes." He turns away from the professor as he speaks, trailing off into the quiet of the night.</p><p>"Pardon?"</p><p>"I— oh, it's nothing." Linhardt shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts and push away the anxiety that has him by the throat. "Professor, this may be a bit forward of me, but I would like to... get to know you better. There are so many strange things about you, and your crest, and all your mysteries, and my curiosity may kill me if I don't do something about it." He reaches out, against his better judgement, and puts a hand on his professor's shoulder, stepping closer to him.</p><p>Byleth looks over at Linhardt, his eyes falling on Linhardt's hand, but says nothing. Linhardt searches his face for something, anything to indicate an emotional response from him, but his expression is as calm as ever, though Linhardt thinks he can feel a spark of surprise and interest, a light in his professor's eyes he's never seen before. A crack in the wall.</p><p>The silence hangs heavy with the weight of Linhardt's confession, and it seems to pull more out of him, unable to stop himself from talking too much and too quickly.</p><p>"Anyway, if the story is true, then I'd like to make a vow with you, professor. Let's vow to meet back here again someday, you and I."</p><p>The crack in the wall opens like a door, and Linhardt feels a rush of emotion unlike anything he's felt before. It's bright and hot and he feels it in the base of his spine like a match being lit, sharp and strong and chemical. Byleth puts a hand on his waist, as if to pull him into a waltz.</p><p>"I'd like that, Linhardt," Byleth says after a moment, though it seems like hours have passed since Linhardt said anything. His expression has returned to its blank resting state, but the spark Linhardt feels from him remains, tucked away inside him, inside both of them now, glowing white-hot behind his eyes.</p><p>Linhardt leans in to close the distance between them.</p><p>The light is almost blinding.</p>
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